


home, you are

by alchemystique



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen, Multi, emma the orphan feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1975818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemystique/pseuds/alchemystique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma is eleven the first time she runs away. She remembers packing her bag, folding up the baby blanket with care before stuffing everything else (it’s not much, really) into her bag, wondering if she was making a mistake. What if I miss it, she thought, the first time, and many more after that. She hadn’t. - Throughout Emma's life something strange has happened to her in times of loneliness. She keeps getting a visitor, a man in black leather who may be crazy and think he's a pirate, but also a man who seems to know her, and care for her. A man who keeps finding her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t stop thinking about Emma Swan and her life before Neal, and Storybrooke, and how alone she would have been, and then crying and wanting alcohol. This will eventually be AU, although it’s only slightly so now. (Why am I writing so much today? I don’t know, and I like it.)
> 
> Title is from “Clocks”, and if any Coldplay song is a CS song it’s definitely “Clocks”.

**home, you are**

Emma is eleven the first time she runs away. She remembers packing her bag, folding up the baby blanket with care before stuffing everything else (it's not much, really) into her bag, wondering if she was making a mistake.

 _What if I miss it,_ she thought, the first time, and many more after that.

She hadn't. She'd stolen a stack of fifties her foster father kept stashed under his mattress (Emma was pretty sure he was dealing meth, and even if she somehow got dragged back he could never tell anyone that an eleven year old had stolen his drug money). She'd spent a week on Greyhound buses from Maine to Georgia, curling up beneath underpasses so that no one would find her and make her go back.

The eighth night, something strange happens.  
  
She's sharing a fire with an older boy who has been sort of watching out for her the last few days - he's maybe sixteen, and is sharing a can of lukewarm beans with her - when something shimmers by the riverside, almost like magic, but before she can point it out its gone.

Henry (the boys name is Henry, and he scoffs when she tells him it's a nice name) doesn't see it, keeps his gloved hands close to the fire, and gives her a concerned glance when she stands, trying to convince herself it was just a trick of the light, a burning ember or a firefly - something _normal_. 

She hasn't given up hope yet on normal, it'll take a few more years, right now she can still pretend she isn't sent back to orphanages because of flickering lights and exploding vases.

She goes to investigate despite Henry's protest. 

Henry thinks she's a bit strange, but he's kind, and she almost feels like maybe he had a younger sister once, one he loved and cared for, one he snuck cookies from the cookie jar with, and stared out at the stars with, one he doted on and loved. Emma wishes it was her.

At the edge of the bank there is nothing but debris - an old metal trashcan overturned, a pile of cigarette butts, a broken side-mirror from a car or a motorcycle, and Emma sighs, turns away from the bank, readying herself to explain that all she'd seen was a reflection off the flames.

Only.

Only she bumps headlong into something instead, nearly falling backward only to catch herself at the last moment, her eyes darting up past a long wall of leather to see a man smiling down at her.

His clothes, his mannerisms, she'll remember those later, but what sticks out now is the smile, soft and a little bit sad.

"I didn't mean to frighten you." His accent is strange, like in those awful romance movies her foster mom had loved to watch, with carriages and bonnets and stuffy old men Emma couldn't imagine why the women always fell for.

Only, he wasn't stuffy-looking at all - he was _handsome_ , with floppy dark hair and bright blue eyes, and Emma couldn't tear her gaze away.

"You didn't _scare_ he," she manages, with all the bravado she can muster, crossing her arms and trying to make herself seem older. The man chuckles, his lips twisting into a smile around the edges of a short beard.

"My mistake," he says, and Emma thinks she finally understands the word _swoon_.

"What are you doing here, anyway?"

His eyebrow jumps at the question, and he kneels then, coming eye level with her. He's even more handsome up close.

"I could ask the same of you."

"I asked first."

The corner of his mouth twitches up, like he's amused. "I'm looking for someone."

"What, here?"

"Aye," he says, like he's a _pirate_ or something.

"Well, what do they look like?"

"A bit like you, truth be told."

She narrows her eyes carefully. She's heard plenty of stories about the kinds of things older men like to do with young blonde girls.

"Listen, creep, I'm not some stupid little girl who wanders off with nice strangers just because they're -." She chokes down her next word, but he smiles like he knows all the same.

"Of course not. I merely mean I've an old friend I'm trying to find, and you bear a striking resemblance."

Emma is _not_ disappointed by this. At all.

"Yeah, well, I don't know anyone here who looks like me, so wherever you got your info they were definitely lying."

He stands again, watching her with careful eyes, and there's something in the way he looks at her that makes her feel...safe, the same feeling she got when Henry first ruffled her hair and offered her half his sandwich near the train tracks. It's silly, and probably dumb, but she feels like he sees something more than a young runaway with no family. "A shame," he finally says. "I should have liked to see her."

Emma is stopped from responding when Henry calls out from the fire, looking like he's contemplating how difficult it would be to overpower the man, and Emma sighs. "I gotta go."

His smile is back to being sad as he nods his head, holding out a hand as though for a handshake. She grasps it curiously, his long fingers curling over her wrist and her skin tingles at the contact. "It was nice to meet you, Emma."

And then he's turning away, his jacket whirling around his ankles as he takes one, two steps away. Emma frowns, heading back up the riverbank toward Henry, only to stop in her tracks as his last words echoed in her head. 

_How had he known her name?_

"Hey! Who are -." She turns to yell at him, to figure out who he is and how he knew her, but he's gone, as if vanished into thin air.

Henry gives her his sleeping bag for the night, and though Emma tries to sleep, she is restless, her mind occupied by sad blue eyes and a curving smile.

\------

The next time Emma sees that shimmer she is fifteen and ditching class, running through the woods behind the school with wild abandon. There are leaves in her hair and brambles clinging to her jeans, her boots are muddle and she's pretty sure she dropped her backpack in the creek on accident. She likes it here, in the woods, the birds chirping and the wind whistling, the leaves crunching under her feet and nothing around her but more space.

She finds a nice dry log by the creek bed, the water trickling now, this late in the year, and just sits, and listens to the world around her, trying desperately not to think about what would happen once her foster mom found out she'd been ditching class again. She didn't really like it here, anyway, even if Anna Holmes was actually really nice and her brother George was really cute and friendly. 

She's glancing up into the trees at a barn owl when she catches it out of the corner of her eye, a soft shimmering light down the creek a ways. Emma sweeps her head to the side to catch the light, but instead she sees a man walking towards her, a dark black jacket billowing around his legs as he makes his way towards her.

Emma has a moment of panic as she realizes all her things were in her backpack - she's defenseless, along, no one even knows where she is. (Would they even care?)

"Always the bloody woods, isn't it?" the man mutters, mostly to himself, Emma guesses, and she realizes she recognizes the voice. Oh shit.

He smiles when he sees her, and Emma leaps back away from him. "Stay back! I'm armed!" she tells him, voice loud and, she hopes, commanding.

"No, you're not." He reaches for something inside his coat, and Emma nearly screams when he tosses a sharp looking knife in her direction. "No matter. You are now. Feel better?"

" _No,_ ," she tells him, a stubborn set to her shoulders, and he actually grins at her, straight white teeth poking out from under his mustache. God, he's still really hot. She'd been hoping her younger self had just seen him in enough shadow and flickering light to be wrong, but it's daylight, and the sun in peeking through the clouds, and he's got high cheekbones and glittering blue eyes and the craziest jawline she's ever seen.

"Why are you following me?"

He looks like he's trying really hard not to grin. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, lass."

"So you admit you're following me?"

"In a sense, I suppose I am."

"What the hell does that even mean?" 

She stares him down, trying to figure him out, but it's hard - her gut is telling her she can trust him, and she doesn't sense a hint of a lie off of him, and she _knows_ she's good at that, at knowing what is truth and what isn't.

"I promise you, one day this will all make sense."

"Yeah, will that be before or after you carve me up for your mantelpiece?"

He takes a step closer, a smile curving around his mouth again, and something tugs at her belly when he chuckles, deep and low in his chest. "Always such a suspicious lass. I mean you no harm, Emma."

"Okay, seriously, how do you know my name?"

"I know a great many things about you, Emma Swan. Perhaps even some things you've yet to learn yourself."

"I'm not actually a very big fan of riddles, you know."

He shoots her an amused grin. "Yes, I do know."

Finally bending to pick up the blade he'd tossed her, she takes her place back on the log, watching him carefully as he leans against a rock across from her. The handle of the thing is intricately carved, but it's not expert work, almost like he'd done it himself, but honestly, who in the world carved their own knife handles anymore. 

She shot another quick glance at him, taking in the wardrobe. 

Then again, his clothes did make him look like a transplant straight out of a pirate movie, with the all over leather, the long duster jacket with its stupidly attractive high collar, the charms hanging low on his chest and the stupid, stupid amount of chest hair on display (Emma kind of thought chest hair was gross, but for some reason she kind of liked his).

"Okay, so, say you're not a crazy person."

"What a wonderful beginning to our conversation."

"Even if you're _not_ totally insane, that doesn't explain what you're doing here."

"To be honest, I don't really have an answer for _why_ I'm here. I got called up sometimes, and I come. Are you distressed, in any way?"

Still, he doesn't seem to be lying. Emma remembers hearing somewhere that sometimes people who were totally mental could take a lie detector test without ever getting marked wrong on a single question, just because their reality said it was the truth, just because they believed it. Maybe this guy was like that.

But.

But the truth was, her foster parents had already threatened to send her back a few times already (send her back, like she was a faulty remote control, or a piece of bruised fruit. Like she was _nothing_ ), and she _did_ like it here. She and Anna might even be friends, and her English teacher was kind and curious and encouraging in a way Emma wasn't used to, and...

And she was a screw up, because no matter how much she ever liked it anywhere, she always found a way to mess it up. Like ditching class, and losing her schoolbag in the woods. Like having a conversation in those woods with a complete stranger who, now that she thought about it, probably had at least a few other weapons hidden in that coat of his.

"I have to go."

"No, you don't. But you will anyway.

Emma rounded on him as she stood. "Okay, look, weirdo, you don't know me, no matter what you think. I'm not some pet project you can take under your wing."

"I'm well aware."

"Then _stop following me_."

His smile is forced. "I'm not entirely sure that's possible."

She stands, hand on hip, and throws his blade to the ground. "Your little cryptic _bull_ is not cute, dude. Just...leave me alone."

"I shall endeavor to try."

Emma storms past him with a roll of her eyes, her boots catching leaves and debris as she stomps away, but she glances over her shoulder after a bit, catches sight of the man, still on the log, his shoulders hunched in and his head tipped low, fingers curling around the handle of the knife. Even in profile he's stupidly good looking, and Emma shakes her head at the thought, trying already to rid herself of his memory, as though she hadn't tried last time. She still has dreams of a hazy smile and understanding blue eyes, and it makes her long for a home she's never had.

\------

The pond behind the orphanage is gated off and is supposed to be off limits, but Emma has been suffocating all night, trying to be happy for Stacy as she gets ready to go home with her new family.

 _Adopted_ has become a curse word to Emma, that forbidden thing she doesn't think about because it makes her so angry, so _mad_ at the world, so upset at the family who took the time to swaddle her in the most beautiful blanket she's ever seen, only to drop her off at the side of the road like garbage they couldn't be bothered to take all the way to the landfill.

Stacy is everything Emma had been, once upon a time, cute and blonde and happy and _believing_ in a world where miracles and magic exist. And now she's getting her very own miracle, and Emma...Emma is fifteen and ready to age out of a system that's done nothing but knock her down her whole life.

She's in tears in a matter of moments, trying to keep her sobs quiet so that Gertrude doesn't hear her from the house, and she doesn't notice the glimmer of light at the edge of the water.

She does, however, notice the hand on her shoulder, and she startles, a scream nearly escaping her as she turns, but it's _him_.

It's been two months, but apparently the man doesn't listen very well. There's a furrow in his forehead as he stares at her in concern, and Emma is so _not in the mood_ to be saved, okay?

" _What_?"

"And hello to you to."

"Can you seriously just go away?" She's fighting a losing battle with her courage - there's still something in the way he looks at her that makes her want to reveal her deep dark secrets, and it's not helping her to keep calm at all. "Just leave me alone!"

"Tell me what's wrong, lass."

"Fuck off." She means for it to be a final retort but it comes out half-sobbing, and she doesn't bother to hide her tears this time. He makes an aborted movement towards her, his arm reaching out for her, but he drops it, and carefully takes a step toward her. 

"Family is bullshit," she tells him through another bout of tears, her throat closing around her words. "It's a _lie_." 

"And this makes you so upset because?"

"Because why do some people get to buy into it? Why do some people get to live the lie and get their stupid happy ending? Why do... why do I have to know the truth?"

It hurts to say it out loud even more than it hurts to keep it bottled in, and her chest aches as he stares at her - she just wants him to _leave_ , to go away and never come back.

Everyone else does.

"I know it doesn't help, lass, but perhaps, one day, you'll get to live the lie."

"Yeah." She snorts and it feels like a thousand pins are pressing into her very soul. "Sounds like fun."

She picks at her sweater as she attempts to calm herself down, and he watches her for a long time, both of them silent in the little clearing. 

"Why do you always show up when I'm miserable?"

He smiles. "Excellent timing, my dear."

Her bark of laughter cuts across the clearing and she slaps a hand over her mouth, turning back to the house and praying no one heard her.

The house stays silent and dark. 

"You're so weird," she tells him, and he takes it as in invitation, sitting down in the damp muggy grass across from her.

"You're the one who keeps dreaming me up, lass."

She kicks out at him, and he's still as solid and real as he had been the first time, her slipper making contact with the edge of his boot and jostling his leg. He smiles fondly at her, and Emma decides that maybe, just maybe, she doesn't want him to go just yet.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She tells herself its hard to date with a young son, and that's why her relationships never last. She tells herself when she dreams of blue eyes and messy dark hair that she's just reminiscing on her childhood, on the man who helped her through her loneliness.
> 
> She tells Beatrice to mind her own business, I have a job and a kid and I don't have time for love.
> 
> She tells a lot of lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really became a love letter to Emma Swan, and I'm kind of in love with it a little bit. I hope you guys like it!

**two**

He pops up regularly for the next few years, always when she's alone, always when she's lonely and wishing for someone to just look at her and _see_ her. She stops being annoyed sometime after he finally introduces himself and starts wearing _normal_ clothes.

She doesn't tell anyone about him - she'd seem as crazy as he is, no one would believe her story about the strange man in pirate garb appearing out of nowhere when she's lonely to offer up encouragement and advice.

His name is Killian, and he is...he's a lot of things, really, but mostly she thinks he's her friend. It's hard to have friends, as much as she gets shuffled around, but he always seems to find her.  
[[MORE]]  
She _likes_ that. She likes feeling like, if she needs him, if she needs _someone_ , he'll always be around. It should be terrifying, but at this point it's kind of difficult to imagine he wants to hurt her - he's had more than enough opportunity, as many times as he has found her in her moments of solitude.

She thinks back, sometimes, on the week after they'd first met, how she and Henry had spent their time together joking and taking care of each other, how there'd been something _magical_ about having someone around who meant something to her.

Mostly she remembers the look in his eyes when an officer had chased them down an alleyway that dead ended, how he'd tossed her over the brick wall as the officer reached for a pair of handcuffs. 

She'd never seen him again, been shipped back off to Maine three days later, but she still remembers the sly grin on his face as he boosted her over.

Killian is kind of like that - the kind of guy who will make fun of her awful haircut but still quietly when she tells him she just wants someone to...want her.

He tells her he has faith she'll one day find what she is looking for, and the worst part is, sometimes, she _believes_ him.

\------

Neal parks the Bug by the docks, and somehow Emma _feels_ him before she sees him. She doesn't bother looking around - he always finds her eventually, anyway - and instead lets the sound of the crews at the docks and the salty-fresh scent of the bay calm her nerves. She feels a little queasy at the thought of telling Killian about Neal, knows he will disapprove, but it's been two months since she met Neal, five since she last saw _him_ , and it's not like he's ever stuck around long enough for...

For whatever it is Emma is always talking herself out of, when it comes to Killian.

"Fancy seeing you here."

She turns to smile at him, taking in the leather bomber jacket and the plaid button up, the long legs that spread out beside her as he takes a seat. His usual earring is missing, and he seems to be wearing a _hook_ in the usual place his fake hand rests.

"Hey you." Her smile is wobbly, and his eyes narrow as he takes her in - the glasses she'd gotten four months ago because stealing shit made it difficult to stay in one place long enough to get a contact order picked up, the short flannel dress and striped stockings, her worn out boots that she absolutely _did not_ get because they reminded her of him, the high ponytail she likes because it makes her face look thinner.

"What's wrong?"

" _Nothing_ ," she says tremulously, but they both know its a lie because he only ever shows up when she's having her introspective moments. She doesn't like to think about why he always shows up for them, when Neal is _here_ and he likes her and he doesn't just disappear every time she pours her heart out.

"Swan," he says, eyebrow raised, and Emma sighs. 

"There's this guy." There have been guys before, here and there, usually tall dark and handsome with some mysterious edge to them (she doesn't look too deeply into the idea that she might have a type), but Neal is different. Very different. She likes that.

He tenses, eyes going dark beside her, but he gestures vaguely for her to continue.

"I think...I think I like him. He _gets_ it, you know?"

Isn't that what she'd always told him she wanted? So why does this feel like a betrayal?

"And this _guy_. Does he treat you well?" He says the word 'guy' like a curse word, and Emma kind of wants to hit him.

" _Yes_." He reminds her of Henry, of that boy who had cared for her and helped her out. Only with more kissing. The kissing part is nice.

She tells none of this to Killian.

"The question, then, is why I'm here at all."

They've never really pursued the how or why of his appearances, just kind of accepted them, but she kind of wishes they had, because all of the sudden she doesn't _want_ him here, doesn't want him judging her when she finally has something _good_.

"Dunno," she tells him, and he sighs, darting a glance over his shoulder until he sees the Bug. Something seems to click behind his eyes, and he goes still and quiet beside her.

"You like the boy, yes?"

"I already said I did."

"Just...just be careful, lass."

" _Why_?"

"I would despair to see you hurt, Emma Swan."

In an instant she's on the defensive, standing from the bench to stare him down. "Neal would _never_ hurt me."

He opens his mouth, closes it, reaches up to rub at the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, his tongue tucked against his cheek. "As you say."

"Well I do say."

"Fine."

" _Fine_."

"Oh for goodness sake, Swan, sit down. I didn't mean anything by it. I'm sure he's a fine boy."

"He's a _man_." And god, this is a ridiculous conversation, why is she so worried about what Killian thinks of her and Neal?

"A fine young man, then."

She slumps back into her seat beside him. "What is your damage, Killian? Can't you just be happy for me?"

He sighs, shoots her an indecipherable look, and reaches over to squeeze her shoulder, the smile curling his lips somewhat forced looking. "I am, Swan. I'm happy if you're happy."

"I'm happy."

"Then I'm happy too."

\------

"Emma."

She hasn't seen him since that day at the docks, and this is seriously such awful timing, even though, yeah, when she'd picked out Tallahassee she'd been praying for an ocean in the hopes that she'd see him again. 

"I don't really have time for this, Killian."

His eyes take her in like a lifeline, like he's terrified this is the last time he'll ever see her, like he's _afraid_ for her. It's too much. This man is too much, so full of himself and his desperate need to _fix_ her, or something, like she's broken, like she needs his help. She doesn't. She and Neal are going to find a home, make themselves a proper family, and screw him for thinking she's making a mistake. 

She shoots him a nasty look as her phone fails to connect, getting an out of service error from Neal's number. 

"Damn right it's an error," she mutters, and spins on her heel when another voice cuts across the night. 

"Unless he set you up. Hands above your head please, miss. And _you_. You just stay where you are, mister."

"Wait, why?"

 _Unless he set you up._ The words ring in her head as the cop approaches, and she can feel Killian tense and still behind her. No. Not Neal. Neal wouldn't have. He _couldn't_ have. He loved her.

"Possession of stolen goods. Left you holding." 

"I have nothing," she says, and there's a desperate edge to her voice, because _this can't be happening_ , she's supposed to be in Neal's arms by now, they're supposed to be _together_.

"Sorry to tell you, but your boy took off. Probably in Canada by now. He called in a tip - told us to take a look at the surveillance footage at the train station. Give me the watch - now!"

"Swan, you _didn't_ ," Killian says, and the cop shoots him a quick glare.

She can barely hear him over the sound of her own buzzing mind as she unfastens the watch, hands it off, and he gestures for her to spin, a pair of handcuffs dangling from his fingers.

What happens next is a blur - Killian moves from behind her and the officer looks shocked a moment before he drops to the ground, out like a light - Killian is shaking her arm, urging her to move, and suddenly they're running, following the riverbed down away from the road. 

"Swan, hurry up, you've got to _run_."

"But - Neal -."

"He's bloody well gone, didn't you hear?"

"He wouldn't just leave me to -."

"He did. Please, Emma, we've got to get out of here."

Gone. Neal, her Neal, had...set her up. She nods distractedly and Killian squeezes her hand. "I'm sorry," he says, and he actually means it, doesn't he?

Emma shakes her head to stop the tears from coming, and squeezes back before she lets go. "Let's get out of here."

\------

He stays with her for a while. A lot longer than he usually does, two nights turning into five turning into a week and a half as she high tails it out of Portland.

He's quiet, lets her process in peace, which she's thankful for, but she's waiting for the inevitable 'I told you so' in the hopes that she will finally have something to rage at.

They're in a motel in Kansas, some shady place off the highway, and they've just hustled some guys at pool in order to pay for the room - double beds and a crappy TV, and this life had seemed exciting two weeks ago, but now she looks at the floral bedcovers and the out of date lamps and she just wants to cry.

And also throw up.

That's been happening a lot lately. She's chalked it up to nerves before now, up to the revelation of Neal's less-than-Prince-Charming betrayal, but eventually Emma takes a moment to track the last month of her life and realizes she'd missed something.

A very big something.

Killian has gone out for food, and she'd stuffed the test in her jacket at the gas station when he wasn't looking (would he even know what it was? Doubtful, but he did seem to know plenty of other things about this world).

She stares at it in silence for a really long time, then triple checks the locks on the bathroom door before she rips open the box.

\------

He disappears again after a week of holding her hair back while she vomits and going over every available option to her, and she wants to hate him for leaving, she does, but by the time he'd left he was pale and sickly looking, and it seemed to be a struggle for him to be here. Emma has too much on her plate to really try to figure out why that might be.

In the end, she decides to keep the baby.

But that in itself entails a whole lot more than she is really prepared for. She finds a women's shelter in Denver and the director takes her in with a soft sigh and a motherly touch. The shelter is home to a great number of battered women, but Nancy, the woman who runs the place, is kind and caring, and when Emma explains her situation Nancy gets a very angry and very determined look in her eye.

That's how she meets Beatrice Hayes, a self-proclaimed warrior for justice (Emma, in a hormonal fit of pique, tells her it's a little pretentious, and Beatrice laughs for twenty minutes before she can calm herself down. Emma finds herself trusting the woman, after that), and the woman who takes her case as pro-bono work.

"I'll pay you back when I can," Emma says, and Beatrice gets a look in her eyes that kind of terrifies her. 

"You will not. You're gonna need every penny you make the next eighteen years. This is a favor for Nancy. I owe her one."

Emma doesn't ask. She knows the kinds of things Nancy does to help people.

In a remarkable stroke of luck, and some incredibly awesome speeches on Beatrice's part, Emma gets off the charges with a few weeks community service - to be served wherever Beatrice deemed fit. Beatrice gave her the option - she could work the road crew like the rest of the degenerates in the world, or she could volunteer at Beatrice's firm.

It wasn't a difficult decision. 

When the two weeks are up, though, Beatrice keeps driving by to pick Emma up from the shelter, sending her on coffee runs and mail room visits and Emma doesn't really question it, because Beatrice is kind of like a superhero, and Emma can't imagine really wanting to be anywhere else. 

She wonders if this is what it's like to have a mother.

At the end of that first month Bee hands her a sealed envelope and a set of keys, and instead of driving her straight back to the shelter that night she heads the opposite direction for ten minutes before she pulls to a stop just outside an old apartment building.

"First and last month's rent are paid already," she tells Emma, and Emma feels like she might cry. 

"What about the rest of it? I don't even have a job."

Bee's eyes practically roll back into her skull as she pats Emma's wrist. "What do you think I've been doing with you all this time, hmm? I'm gonna groom you into the next Beatrice Hayes, Justice Warrior."

"Can we think of another name first?"

Bee's laughter makes Emma forget all about wanting to cry.

\------

The South Platte is high this time of year, the water rushing through the city as Emma wobbles her way down the walkway running the length of it - she's still got two months to go, and honestly she doesn't understand how she can possibly be expected to get _bigger_ than this.

She's spent the past two weeks walking the river in hopes of seeing Killian again, but for some reason he never appears - she wonders if he even can, anymore, or if the time he stayed to make sure she was alright has closed that door for them. 

The baby kicks, and Emma sighs, curling herself up onto a bench to look up at the night sky. There's far too much light to see much of the stars, but the few she can see twinkle merrily at her. She wonders at it, that glimmer of light from millions of miles away - some of those shimmering beacons of light are long dead, by now, and it makes her sad - makes her ache for all the things she's lost already, in this world.

The baby kicks again, and Emma smoothes her hand over her belly, carefully rocking herself back and forth as the Platte rushes by.

\------

Bee keeps telling her to be careful, says that going out for strolls through the city is just _asking_ for trouble this late in the pregnancy, but Emma has always preferred the outdoors to being cooped up inside, and the baby always seems calmer when she's walking, anyway. Or maybe its her that's calmer, the constant motion, never having to stay in one place - maybe calming her nerves calms the baby. 

She's humongous, she knows, and there's a very definite waddle to her step as she nears the bench she prefers for her late night star gazing - there is some weird power outage going on in the city and the stars are bright and glowing tonight.

She lays down sideways on the bench, her eyes picking out constellations, and the baby is quiet. The contractions have been coming steady for the last few days, but today has been calm, hardly a kick or a contraction at all.

Bee had given her a knowing look as she left work that afternoon, and reminded her to keep her cell phone charged and on, _and don't you dare test me, Emma Swan._

She's halfway across the night sky when she sees flickering light, and clamps down on the disappointment she feels when she glances over to see the Aquarium lights coming back on. 

Emma has more people in her life now than she could ever have imagined - she's been volunteering with Nancy the past few months, making friends with the women at the shelter, women she respects for being strong enough to find their own way, women she wishes she was as courageous as. Bee still feels a bit like a mom, to Emma, but she's a good friend and an excellent mentor and honestly Emma isn't sure what she'd do without the woman.

The people in the office have taken a while to warm up to her - Emma gets it, she must have seemed like the biggest charity case to ever walk their halls, and she's young, to boot, hasn't even finished her first semester of school (a requirement of Bee's that Emma had protested fiercely until one of the partners explained the kind of scholarships given to employees of the firm), but somehow she's managed to charm a few of the younger staff, and she may even have made a few friends, here.

She finally thinks she has a place in the world, but she still feels like she's missing something. 

"You're the size of a bloody whale, love."

Emma shrieks, raising her head up off the bench, narrowing her eyes as Killian strolls towards her with a smile on his face. He's always been very fond of his nicknames, but he's never used _that_ one before.

He reaches out his hand to help her back into a sitting position, but Emma uses it to leverage herself up and yank him into a hug, and screw it, she's an emotional, hormonal wreck, so she doesn't even bother to hide her tears when his arms come up hesitantly around her. 

" _Killian_ ," she says, and she leans back to take him in. He's got his usual leather jacket on, this one all smooth lines and upturned collar, and she can't help but wonder how he can stand it in this heat. His kohl rimmed eyes are taking her in carefully, and god, she's so _fat_ right now, how can he possibly be looking at her like that?

He fingers a lock of blonde hair between his fingers and smiles, his eyes darting over her shoulder at the stars, where she knows Cygnus is peaking out near the horizon. "Hello, love."

She can feel the grin stretching her mouth wide, wants to laugh until she cries (again), which is, of course, the moment she feels a trickle of wetness along one leg.

"Oh _crap_ ," she says, and Killian's brow furrows as she yanks herself away from him.

"What is it?"

"You really do have impeccable timing, you ass." His eyes light up like it's the best thing he's ever heard.

Emma's reaching for her phone a second later, and Killian, who she expected to turn into a bumbling idiot at the prospect of her _giving birth_ is unerringly calm while Beatrice yells at her over the line.

The contractions start two hours later, as Bee is gathering up hospital bags and car seats and throwing shady looks over her shoulder at Killian. She doesn't trust him, that much is obvious, and Emma can't really blame her - he does look like the sort of man who would knock up a nineteen-year-old and then disappear from her life, but Emma has already been through the whole messy story about Neal, and she'd very specifically introduced him as Killian when Bee had tumbled into her living room like a bat out of hell.

She only gets more suspicious at the hospital when Killian doesn't hesitate to flat out lie to the nurse who asks him whether or not he's the father, and when he disappears to round up coffee for Beatrice and himself Bee turns to her with a crazed look in her eye. 

"Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"Bee, I already told you -."

"I found you in a battered women's shelter two months pregnant and alone, so you'll forgive me for asking the difficult question."

"Bee, I promise you, Killian is a really old friend. He came for a surprise visit." She chuckles at the thought. "I guess I just had a bigger surprise."

Shockingly enough, the woman seems to take her at her word. "He was very quick to name himself the father."

"Yeah, well, he's not wiggling his way onto the birth certificate, so..." Emma sighs as the joke runs flat. "He just wants to be here for me," she tells her friend, and something like aching fondness clicks in her chest as she realizes the truth of the statement.

"I find myself wondering about your past more and more with every day I know you, Emma Swan."

"You and me both," she says, wincing around another contraction. "You and me both."

\------

 _Princess Bride_ is playing on the television, and her little baby boy is quiet in her arms while Killian watches her.

"A strange choice of movie for a new mother," he tells her, and she grins at him.

"It's my favorite."

"You should really take care to keep your propensity for dashing pirates in disguise under control."

Emma gives him a queer look that he doesn't acknowledge, and watches at he toys with the baby blanket her son is swaddled in. Something feels _different_ about this visit, and she can't put her finger on what, but he seems to be holding back from her more than usual.

"It's a fine name," he finally says, a knowing smile on his face as those long fingers drift across her sons soft cheek. He isn't wearing his usual rings, stuffed into a pocket somewhere around the time the doctor had scrubbed Killian in once he'd decided she was dilated far enough to give birth. "A good, strong name, Henry."

One look at her little boy had been all it took to remember the kind young man who had taken care of a fellow runaway, and she only hopes her son's heart is as large. 

"You can't stay much longer, can you?"

His smile turns sad. "I'm afraid not."

"Where do you go? When you leave?" She's never asked the question before, terrified of the answer, not wanting to know if he's happier, away from her. 

"Home," he tells her, and he glances up at her, a million secrets in his eyes that she just wants to know. She tells herself it doesn't hurt to know he has a home, maybe a family, but it does. It hurts more than she'd ever be willing to admit.

"You're going to be a brilliant mother," he says, the back of his hand shifting along a strand of hair resting on her shoulder. "Henry is the luckiest boy in the world to have you as his."

She falls asleep with his hand in her hair and Buttercup rolling down the hill after Westley, and when she wakes Killian is gone, and the grandfather is making his "Five Kisses" speech. It's one of her favorite bits in the movie, but she clicks the television off before he's finished, and instead stares up at the ceiling until Beatrice slips into the room a few minutes later.

\------

When Henry is nine Bee threatens to fire Emma if she doesn't take the job in Boston she's been offered, and there are tears and hugs and phone calls promised as she packs her things and heads halfway across the country.

Henry, always ready for the next big adventure, takes to Boston like a fish to water. He makes friends easily, and charms his new teachers with his limitless enthusiasm, and her first parent teacher conference his English teacher raves on and on about his creative spirit, telling Emma her favorites are his strange and imaginative takes on fairytales.

She thinks nothing of it, and when she asks about it later, Henry just shrugs. "Killian brought me a storybook the last time he was here."

She's twenty-seven, and Killian doesn't look a day older than when she first met him. He visits occasionally, spends time with Henry, and she feels that same ache in her chest every time he looks at her, like she's missing something that's right in front of her.

She tells herself its hard to date with a young son, and that's why her relationships never last. She tells herself when she dreams of blue eyes and messy dark hair that she's just reminiscing on her childhood, on the man who helped her through her loneliness.

She tells Beatrice to mind her own business, _I have a job and a kid and I don't have time for love._

She tells a lot of lies.

Killian strolls up the docks the morning of Henry's tenth birthday, and Henry practically leaps from their picnic blanket to greet him, babbling incessantly as the man ruffles his hair and laughs at her sons exuberance. The storybook rests by her knee, and she flips through the tome while Henry gestures wildly, not quite yet noticing the small package tucked under Killian's arm.

"Ah, Snow White and Prince Charming," he says with an amused curl to his lip that Emma doesn't understand. "Interesting choice."

There are pages torn out at the end, and Emma's curiosity is piqued. "The story's a little different than I remember it."

"They always are."

He's gotten more cryptic lately than Emma likes, but she brushes it off just like all the other things that don't make sense about him in favor of ignoring the way his eyes track her movements whenever she's around.

Henry notices the package in Killian's arms a moment later, and Emma can barely keep track of him as he bounces around Killian, hands grabbing excitedly for the present.

He unwraps it with practiced chaos, newspaper flying this way and that as he tears into the thing, ripping open the box he uncovers.

"Oh _cool!_ " He throws Killian a distracted one-armed hug as he yanks a leather bound book from inside the box, already flipping through the pages. "This is _awesome_!"

"Do you have something you'd like to say to Killian, Henry?"

"Thank you!" He doesn't even look up from the page, and Killian grins at her.

"I have a friend who was very keen to chronicle the tales of Henry Swan."

Henry doesn't put the book down for most of the day, and for some reason is careful not to let Emma read it. He falls asleep with the thing tucked under his pillow, and Emma and Killian stay up for a nightcap, taking quietly about all the inconsequential things in her life. They've both gotten very good at ignoring anything of substance that should be talked about, all the things they haven't told each other, but it wears on her, and she wonders if it wears on him too.

Killian is keeping something from her, and she's getting tired of all the secrets.

When she wakes the next morning, it's to murmuring voices in the living room, and she peeks around the corner as she slips down the hall. Killian and Henry are cross-legged on the floor, head bent together over the storybook, whispering to each other. The blankets and pillow Killian had used the night before are folded and stacked neatly on the armrest of the couch (always so tidy, this man), and Killian's false hand is laying on the coffee table next to Henry's PS3 controller. It's terrifyingly easy to imagine every morning like this, and so she shakes her head to rid herself of the idea. 

"...not ready, lad," Killian is saying.

"But she has to know! It's her destiny!" Killian shushes Henry as the boy raises his voice.

"Henry, your mother believes in a great many things, but never fate. You'll have to be careful how you approach this."

"But she has to save them!"

"And she _will_. In her own time."

Emma swings around the corner and they both go silent.

" _Hey_ , mom," Henry says, his eyes darting to the stack of papers on the floor next to the storybook, pages that look suspiciously like the ones she noticed torn out of it.

"Good morning, Swan."

"Someone wanna tell me what's going on?"

Killian's eyes go wide, an almost imperceptible head shake shared with her son, but Henry is already gathering up the papers and staring at her like he's about to go to war.

"Mom, there's something you should know."

\------

" _Get out_."

She's _livid_ , her body shaking at she shoves at Killian again. "Get the _fuck_ out of my house, Killian."

"Emma, please, if you'd just listen -."

"Listen - Listen?? I did enough listening! You've been selling my son come crackpot story about how he's part of some magical fairytale come to life, and he believed you! I don't want you _near_ him - I don't want to see you _ever again_ , do you understand me?"

"Emma, love, please -."

"I'm not your 'love'! Now get out of my house before I call the cops."

"I know you don't believe right now, Swan, but he's right, this is your bloody _destiny_! Suspend your disbelief for a moment, hmm? It shouldn't be terribly difficult, considering our relationship."

"Yeah, and what kind of destiny shuffled me around foster homes and kept me alone my whole _life_ , huh? You're _crazy_ , and Henry is not going to have his mind poisoned by a psycho who thinks fairytales are real. _Get out_."

He's already at the door, and the stricken look in his eyes in as sincere as everything else he's ever said or done, but Emma had studied enough psychology to know that even her lie detector might not be immune to clouded judgment.

"I know you don't want to believe it, Swan, but you are the final piece to the puzzle. You finish the story."

" _My life is not a fairytale_ , Killian! It's real, and it _sucked_ for a really long time, and you are not going to ruin the only good thing I have. You leave me alone, and you leave my son alone, and if I ever see you again I'll have you arrested for stalking."

His smile is rueful as he reaches fro the handle of the door, as though he's remembering something from long ago, and the lock clicks open as his head tips low. 

"As you wish."

\------

She and Henry have a tradition of sharing a cupcake for her birthday - Beatrice had started it all those years ago, and it had just kind of stuck.

So when she enters their apartment and heads into the kitchen she calls out for him, already opening up the box from the bakery down the street.

The lack of response sets her on edge, and she spends a long moment waiting for Henry to appear.

It's been...tense, the past few months. Henry won't let go of this fairytale thing, and he barely spoke to her for a week after she sent Killian packing, but he'd actually seemed pretty excited about her birthday when she'd sent him off to school this morning. 

"Henry?"

She goes through the entire apartment systematically, panic rising when she finds no trace of him, and it only gets worse when she realizes his backpack is missing.

"Henry, this isn't funny!" she calls out in the hope this is some elaborate joke he's playing, but he doesn't respond.

Her phone rings in her jacket pocket and she has a moment of shaky horror as she sees the unfamiliar number slice across the screen.

Her hands are shaking as she answers, her voice wobbly. "This is Emma Swan."

"Oh thank goodness." The voice on the other end is kind and soft, and Emma feels something warm catch in her throat. "Are you Henry's mother?"

"Yes, yes, have you-."

"He's here," the woman interrupts quickly, sensing Emma's distress. "I'm sorry, this is very strange. He showed up on my doorstep twenty minutes ago and told me to call you."

"Is he okay?"

"Well, he seems to have stolen a credit card and taken a bus to get here, but other that some petty theft and crossing state lines he's in one piece."

Emma groans, remembering her missing card when she'd gone to pay for the cupcake earlier. "I'm so sorry. He's not usually like this, he just...well, he's mad at me, and I honestly _cannot_ believe him right now."

The woman on the other end is quick to assure her it's quite alright, he's a sweet boy, really, and Emma can't shake the feeling that she knows this woman, which is completely crazy.

"I'm coming right away. Where are you?"

"Oh, it's a little town in the middle of nowhere. I can text you the address."

Emma thanks her and apologizes another ten times before she hangs up the phone, and she's bundling herself into her car when her phone buzzes, Mary Margaret's number popping up with a new text.

She groans again when she catches sight of the readout, yanking the car into gear angrily, already planning out the lecture of a lifetime.

Another text pops up a moment later, and she reads them both with a growing sense of trepidation.

 _Happy Birthday, by the way_ the last one says, and wass this woman even real? Who did that?

Right above it is the address she types into her navigation, rolling her eyes at it even as a map loads, glitching out a few times before Emma shakes her phone in annoyance.

The phone display flickers and then loads as if by magic, and Emma takes off towards her destination:

_1201 Main Street, Apt 3, Storybrooke, Maine_


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a very long time since she’s had a bad birthday, but this one definitely takes the cake. The town she’d been so eager to leave has been dragging her back in since she knocked on Mary Margaret’s door, and Emma is fairly positive that whatever mechanic they have in Storybrooke is going to take one look at her engine and call time of death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, the good news is this thing keeps getting longer.
> 
> The bad news is my weekend is officially over and it make take me a few days to finish this off now.

"You've gotta be kidding me."

Emma kicks at the cars tires again, glaring at her smoking engine, the charming little 'You Are Now Leaving Storybrooke' sign _mocking_ her from it spot ten feet in front of her very dead car.

Henry pokes his head out the window. "So...I guess we're staying?"

"You are in a boatload of trouble, mister, so I don't want to hear it."

"I told you we should just stay the night. Mary Margaret even said the Bed and Breakfast had rooms open."

"Henry, seriously, I am _really_ tired and this stupid town is in the middle of nowhere and I'd really appreciate a moment of silence for the death of my happy birthday."

" _Technically_ it's not your birthday anymore."

He shuts his mouth and fades into the backseat at the look she gives him.  
  
It's been a very long time since she's had a bad birthday, but this one definitely takes the cake. The town she'd been so eager to leave has been dragging her back in since she knocked on Mary Margaret's door, and Emma is fairly positive that whatever mechanic they have in _Storybrooke_ is going to take one look at her engine and call time of death.

She aims another kick at her tire as a pair of headlights swing around the bend in the road, flashing lights on top alerting her to the tow truck finally arriving.

The man who exits the truck to greet her has a sweet smile and a bit of a mousy personality, and Henry asks him about a million questions as he's rigging up her car to the hitch, all of which Gus answers quite cheerfully despite having been woken up in the middle of the night to drive out to the edge of town.

 _All_ the people she's run into here are weirdly chipper and friendly, and maybe it's just because Emma is used to the hustle and bustle of Boston, but its _strange_.

Henry carried on a conversation all the way to the garage, where Gus promises to take a look first thing in the morning, and points them in the direction of Grannys, because of course the Bed and Breakfast in Storybrooke is called _Grannys_. Maybe they'll run into the Big Bad Wolf on their way.

There's a woman in tight red shorts and bright heels trying to open the door without letting it creak as Emma and Henry walk up the steps, and she turns to look at them guiltily when the door swings open wide and an older woman glares over her glasses at the girl.

"Ruby Lucas, it is one in the morning."

"What can I say, Gran? The nightlife died out early tonight. But _look_ we have guests!" she deflects, and swings around the woman, tearing off up the stairs while the older woman stares them down.

"Well. Come on in from the cold."

\------

"I'm sorry, _two weeks_?"

"Sorry, Ms. Swan, we have to order in the parts. That's the soonest we can get them in."

"You're joking."

Gus sort of cringes, like he's afraid he's going to hit him, and Emma takes a long deep breath. "Okay. Okay, that's...that's fine. We'll just...take a little vacation."

Henry woops from behind her and she shoots him a look that would terrify anyone else (including Gus, apparently), but her son just grins at her.

She has to tell Gus how fine it is about twenty times before he stops apologizing, but eventually they head out the door and start a course toward Granny's again. The town is just as quirky in the daylight as it is at night, and Emma keeps shooting her gaze to the clock tower in curiosity, because she could have sworn last night that Mary Margaret had said something about the thing never working, but the hands are ticking along quite nicely, and the time matches up with readout on her phone to the minute.

They run into Mary Margaret on their way into the diner, and at Emma's worried lament about Henry missing so much school the woman's eyes go wide and excited.

"Oh, he could come audit my class!"

"That's really nice of you, but -."

"No, it's cool mom. I'll go."

Emma raises an eyebrow at Henry, but the boy just shrugs and swings past them to the bar. Mary Margaret looks pleased, but Emma is suspicious. "Okay, I will be the first to say that my son did not inherit my distaste for school, but that was way too easy."

"Sometimes kids will surprise you," she says, and Emma grins at her. 

"Yeah. You have any of your own?"

It's apparently the wrong thing to say. Mary Margaret shakes her head and smiles, but there's something in her eyes that's sad and lost, something that makes Emma want to hug her, or something. "No. I never had the pleasure."

"That's one word for it."

She smiles a little brighter this time. "Henry is a wonderful boy, and he speaks very highly of you. You must be doing something right."

Emma ignores the shiver that runs up her spine, and watches Mary Margaret walk away, still wondering why on earth she feels like she _knows_ the woman.

\------

"Miss Swan, I presume?"

Emma glances up from the local paper to see a woman in an expensive looking pant suit staring down her nose at her. "How did you -?" The woman raises a brow at her, and Emma grimaces. "Small town. Right."

"I'm the mayor of this town, Miss Swan, I make it my business to know its happenings."

"Oookay." She takes a sip of her cocoa carefully and watches the woman. She kind of feels like she's in high school and the popular girl is meting out her worth, but Emma had never really been one for waiting to figure out where she fit in the scheme of things. "Well, it was nice to meet you, Ms..."

"Mills. Regina Mills."

"Cool name."

Ms. Mills, Regina Mills, continues to give her the stare down, and Emma sits straighter in her seat, yanking her shoulders back from a hunch. "I understand your car is in need of repair?"

"Yeah. Should be another week and a half, if Gus gets the parts when he's supposed to."

"Oh, I'm sure he'll get them on time. In fact, I'll make sure of it."

"I mean, there's not really a big rush. Henry's loving Mary Margaret's classes and I work from home most of the time anyway, so..."

"Henry?" Her saccharine smile wavers around the name. 

"My son." 

"Ah, yes. Your son. Curious that he found our little town, nestled out here so far away from anything else."

"Henry has a way of doing the impossible."

"That's very interesting." It sounds like she thinks it's the least interesting thing she's ever heard, which is fine with Emma, because this woman is seriously giving her the creeps. "Well. I'll leave you to your...hot chocolate, then," she says, and Emma kind of wants to punch her in the face, just a little bit. 

"Thanks. Have a nice day, mayor."

"Oh, I intend to."

Her 'nice day' apparently revolves around ruining Emma's - Granny kicks her out of the B and B citing some policy Emma is pretty sure is completely made up, and then the town sheriff has her arrested for _jaywalking_.

"Are you seriously all in the mayors pocket?" she asks from behind the bars as Sheriff Graham Humbert taps a pen against his desk, and he glances up carefully, eyeing her with suspicion. It's a shame, really, because the guy is more than slightly attractive, and tall dark and mysterious is still kind of her thing, and he's got a fucking accent, too, jesus, but there is literally zero chance she's interested in this guy if he's disregarding public safety in order to lock up people Ms. Mills, Regina Mills doesn't like. 

"You were jaywalking."

"Which is like a ten dollar ticket, and far and away from the kind of infraction that gets people locked up. I happen to know the law pretty well."

"Ms. Mills seemed to think you were something of a danger to us. This is precautionary."

"So, what, you followed me around town waiting to get in your way so that the mayor could dig up dirt in peace? You can't keep me here forever."

"No, but I can keep you here for forty-eight hours."

"I have a son, you know."

"I'm aware."

"All I want to do is take him and my car and get the hell out of this town."

He smiles at her through the bars, and Emma rolls her eyes, flopping back down onto the bed to stare at the ceiling.

Twenty minutes later she hears Henry's voice echoing down the hallway, and she glances up to see him and Mary Margaret wandering into the station. "Hey, mom!" Henry says, bright and bubbly as if she's not locked behind bars right now. "Mary Margaret's gonna bail you out!"

"You have a judge who _set bail_ on a jaywalking ticket? What even is this place?" She shoots Humbert a glare that he shrugs his shoulders at, and Emma wonders if this is just routine for him. How much money did the town make off this kind of shit? She gives Mary Margaret a curious look. The woman is smiling at her, looking honest to god happy to see her, and Emma sighs. "Why exactly are you helping me out?"

"I...uh... I guess I just trust you."

"Well I hate to break it to you, but I did actually commit this heinous crime, so maybe you should wash your hands of this whole messy affair and let them send me to the firing squad. That's what you do here, right?" she shoots at Humbert, and he curls his lip in amusement as he unlocks the cell door. 

"Ha ha. You're hilarious."

She nicks her jacket from behind his desk and gives him a sarcastic salute as she spins away from him. "Sheriff, it's been a real pleasure." Mary Margaret and Henry follow her out the door, and Emma is halfway to Granny's before she remembers they've technically been kicked out.

"Damnit," she mutters under her breath, _could this day get any worse_. "You guys don't happen to have another motel, or something, do you?"

Mary Margaret shakes her head.

"That is wonderful, wonderful news. Just fan-freaking-tastic. This place is the _best_."

"Is something wrong?"

"Your mayor hates me and had me kicked out of the B and B, so Henry and I are currently without a roof over our heads until my car is fixed."

"Oh, well you can stay with me!" She says it without hesitation, and Emma raises her eyebrow. "It's no trouble, I swear. And honestly I wouldn't mind seeing the look on Regina's face when she sees all her plans have been foibled."

"By you."

"Regina doesn't like me, very much."

"Yeah, well, you better be careful she doesn't find some long hidden ordinance that forbids you from harboring single mothers under your roof before you decide this is a good idea."

"Nonsense. You'll stay with me until your car ss fixed. It's settled."

It's as easy as that, apparently - they pick up their things from Granny's and pick up a quick dinner, and Mary Margaret seems absolutely thrilled at the prospect of the two of them staying over - she clears out the unused loft and sets up pillows and blankets and she might actually be a fairytale princess, because she hums the whole way through it while Henry digs into his dinner.

She makes hot chocolate as they sit around her kitchen island, and Emma starts at her first taste of the drink.

"Cinnamon?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I should have asked. It's a little quirk of mine. Do you mind?"

Henry cuts across her, whipped cream across his upper lip and a grin on his face. "No, its cool, this is how mom makes it at home. Right mom?"

Mary Margaret tilts her head and smiles. "What a strange coincidence."

"Yeah," Henry says. "Totally random. Could have happened to anyone. How weird that you guys share that."

He grins around his mug when Emma throws him a questioning frown, but Emma leans across the island with her own mug. "When you bailed me out, you said that you trusted me. Why?"

"It's strange. Ever since you arrived here, I've had the oddest feeling like we've met before."

Emma thinks about the warmth in her chest when she first hear Mary Margarets voice over the phone line, and takes a sip of her cocoa as she stares at the woman. "I'm starting to reevaluate my definition of crazy."

\------

Mary Margaret tries to hide the newspaper on the table when Emma stumbles down the stairs the next morning, but it's pretty hard to hide a mug shot spanning half the page. Emma yanks it out of her hands to stare at the headline.

"Let me guess. Madam Mayor is lining the pockets of the local paper, too."

Mary Margaret looks apologetic, which is ridiculous, because she has _nothing_ to do with the mayors crazy vendetta against Emma. 

"These are juvenile files. They were supposed to be sealed. I wasn't even _charged_ for any of this stuff."

"The mayor has her ways."

"Yeah, and they're _illegal_ ," she tells Mary Margaret, smiling as the woman hands her off a mug of steaming hot chocolate, cinnamon already sprinkled on. 

"I guess we're just used to it by now."

Emma very much wants to say something empowering to the poor woman who just shrugs off things like digging up sealed files and bribing the sheriff's office, but there's a knock at the door that Mary Margaret rushes to answer.

She opens the door to an older gentleman, chin length, greying hair and a finely tailored suit, the man walks right in to the apartment before Mary Margaret gets a word out, his cane clicking against the wood floors as he takes the place in. His eyes land on Emma and a wicked grin cuts across his face. 

"Miss _Swan_ , I wondered where you'd gone off to. My rentee's at the Bed and Breakfast were quite concerned you wouldn't have a place to stay, but I see Miss Blanchard has been kind of enough to take you in."

"How do you -."

"Oh, you've made quite the splash since you came to town, Emma." 

"I guess it saves me the time of introducing myself. And also gives me the hassle of having to ask everyone who they are." His eyes catch and hold hers as he stares at her curiously.

"Oh, this is Mr. Gold. He's just here for the rent."

He blinks, finally, lips quirking as Mary Margaret hands him an envelope and his eyes swivel away from Emma. "Yes. The _rent_."

He stands quiet and still for a long moment, eyeing the room, a smile on his face like he's sharing some amusing joke with himself, before he taps his cane twice and turns towards the door. 

"Well. It was lovely to meet you, Miss Swan. _Welcome to Storybrooke._ "

The door clicks shut behind him and his footsteps echo down the stairs. Mary Margaret sighs like she's made it throw some harrowing experience, but Emma is getting a really, really weird feeling about this town.

"So that's your landlord."

"Oh, yes."

"But he's also Granny's landlord."

"Oh, he has property all over town. And he owns the pawn shop."

"He's kind of weird."

Mary Margaret just smiles and heads back towards the island for her mug, reaching for the newspaper and then changing her mind at Emma's quick glance at the front page. Instead the other woman crumples the whole thing up and shoves it in the trashcan. "Sydney Glass is a hack, anyway."

She calls her editor the next morning. "There's something fishy going on in this town, Toni, and I'm going to figure it out."

"Oh, is it drugs? No - maybe it's a cult! Stepford Maine!"

"You are way too enthusiastic about hidden cults."

"Readers love nothing more than seeing how creepy other people can be. Makes them feel better about their affairs and failing careers."

She calls Bee next.

"And the _mayor_. It's like she's got the whole town under her thumb. Plus I'm pretty sure this Gold guy owns half the town. It's creepy. This place is creepy, and I'm gonna get to the bottom of it."

"Sounds to me like Emma Swan has finally taken on her true mantle: Social Justice Warrior."

Emma snorts. "Well, it's better than Savior, which is what Henry keeps calling me."

"He's still going strong on that fairytale stuff, huh?"

Emma hums in response.

"I honestly don't get it. We have a good life, right? Me and Henry. We're happy."

"Oh _course_ you are. Except..."

"Not you too."

"Honey, look. I love you, you know I do. But you're a little lonely, don't you think?"

She can feel the eye roll coming on. "I am not trolling Storybrooke for a man, Bee."

"I didn't mean a _man_ , Emma. Look, Boston's a big city, it's easy to just...fall into the cracks, never really make any lasting connections. Maybe a small town would be good for you. You could make yourself a family."

"I have a family. You're my family. Henry's my family. What else do I need?"

"Oh Emma. Only you can answer that question. Have you stopped looking yet? Because I don't think you have."

"Look, Henry thinks the sweet school teacher he followed home a week ago is Snow White. He also thinks _she's my mother_. This isn't healthy for him."

"So you're gonna stay, write your article, get Henry's hopes up, and _then_ leave?"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Fine. Tell me about this Sheriff who keeps trying to arrest you."

Emma just smacks her skull against the headboard in response.

\------

The string of events that lead to Emma being elected Sheriff of Storybrooke are a bit of a hazy mess. She'd meant to stay just long enough to get her article, but the more she dug, the more questions she had, and Emma Swan, Justice Warrior (TM) had gotten herself _attached_ to this town, and between Graham's mysterious _heart attack_ right around the time she was sure he was finally going to give up Regina, and all the shady business going on with the mayor and Gold, she'd found herself shoehorned into giving a crap about this stupid town and what was happening to it.

Her life has always been a little strange, but this whole place is just a minefield of messy relationships and crazy people.

And Henry is convinced they're all from a storybook. Regina, of course, is the Evil Queen (Emma will give her son this, if anyone was the Evil Queen, it was definitely Regina), and her roommate Snow White (and also her mother, but the town was under a curse and the inhabitants didn't age, so it made sense that she was maybe a year older than Emma), the town therapist was Jiminy Cricket, the local carpenter Gepetto, and of course, of course, there was the John Doe coma patient who Mary Margaret had read Snow White and Prince Charmings story to and who had, apparently, woken up after ten years and walked straight out of the hospital (because of True Love, according to Henry, because True Love could break any curse, even the Evil Queens).

She keeps waiting for Killian to show up (and she ignores how ridiculous it is to wait for a magical glimmer near a body of water while she denies every other fantastical thing Henry has thought up during their time here), but he never does - not at the toll bridge where they find David Nolan half-drowned; not at the docks when takes takes off towards them at a run as the coroner is wheeling away Grahams _body_ ; not when the mysterious man in the leather jacket (and shouldn't she know better by now?) tries to convince her of the mystical properties of water as if she isn't well aware of that by now; not when her roommate is framed for murder; not even when she finds herself _drugged and tied up_ at the whim of some crazy dude who thinks he can travel to magical realms with the help of a magical hat.

She stops hoping the day Henry eats the apple turnover meant for her, the day she'd planned to leave for good, with or without her story, and her life spirals into the nightmare Regina has been working for this whole time.

She's ready to kill the woman, the woman who _poisoned her son_ , but for the first time since she met Regina Mills the woman actually seems mortified by the consequences of her actions.

She doesn't take the time to let the rest of it sink in - Henry had been right, this whole, messed up place was home to a bunch of fairytale characters, all of whom needed serious therapy, and maybe from a licensed doctor and not a cricket with an umbrella.

She _fights a dragon_ , she breaks the spell, because she's destined to, or something, but all she cares about is the way Henry's eyes had snapped open to look at her, all she cares about is getting them both the hell out of this town. She feels a pang at the thought of leaving Mary Margaret, but the woman isn't her mother, not really - she hadn't raised her, or been there for her, and she's read the book, she knows it's not really Mary Margarets fault, but she can't stay here. Not in this town. 

She's leaving a message for Bee when the Wraith blows through town, and god help her she saves Regina's life, like the idiot she is. She saves Regina's life, and before she can even take a breath, or have a minute with her son, she's waking up beneath a pile of rubble with a sword in her face.

When she'd prayed, and wished, and hoped for a family, this had never been part of the deal.

\------

Had he _known_? she wonders, as they trudge back toward the camp with Mulan at the head of their little Princess Troupe. Had Killian known that this was what awaited her? Had he known that if she knew the whole truth she would have hightailed it out of town before she ever met Regina?

Was that why he'd never shown his face in Storybrooke? Had her whole life been a game of chess to him, moving the pieces where they needed to go so that she broke the curse like _fate_ had designed for her?

She hopes he and August _choke_ on their self-righteous meddling.

She's not prepared for the sight of the camps inhabitants, not prepared for _hearts_ ripped out of chests and the way Mary Margaret-Snow- _her mother_ just carries on as though she's seen a few slaughters in her time.

But most of all, she's not prepared for the man they unearth from beneath the heap of bodies, rings glistening off his fingers and a lie in his eyes. She's not prepared for the one truth she finds in those eyes as she leans over him and tells him she can sniff out a lie.

_He doesn't know her._


End file.
